


Four Slade/Dick Ficlets

by Rubynye



Category: DCU - Comicverse
Genre: Alternate Timeline, Dubious Consent, Ficlet Collection, M/M, Threesome Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-18
Updated: 2010-01-18
Packaged: 2017-10-06 10:24:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/pseuds/Rubynye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four assorted ficlets about that wonderfully twisted mentor-student relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shopping

**Author's Note:**

> #2 is an AU of how the lead up to _Infinite Crisis_ could have gone.  
> #4 is a threesome.

"So, what kind of bike do you think Rose'd like?" Slade surveys the contents of the motorcycle dealership as if it's a cheap toy store, and the staff is already huddling in a corner staring at him with alarm and Dick with nervous smiles.

Dick looks the sportbikes over and wonders how honestly to answer. Rose would probably like the fastest thing she can throw her leg over. Dick would rather see her on a moped. "A Hyabusa, probably," he finally decides, and hopes she won't do too much damage to the world around her with it.

"Not a Ducati?" Slade asks, with a moderately infuriating level of grin and a worrisomely narrowed eye.

Dick returns the look, shaking his head. "Too much maintenance."

Slade nods, and Dick can breathe again. "Sounds good." He strides towards the staff; the man who's probably the manager promptly flees, leaving his salesman and saleswoman trembling and eyeing Slade like cornered rabbits. Dick should probably go run interference, but for the moment it's not him, so he just folds his arms and breathes more deeply than he ever can when Slade's looking at him.


	2. Alternate track for the Secret Society of Supervillains Arc

Dick flips down from the ceiling, dropping to the floor. No thud, which is good, and the clothes he left are still here, which is great. Even so, he skims the cloth through his hands to check it for bugs and tracers, keeping his ears open meanwhile for anyone approaching, but the house is night-quiet, the sky outside dawn pink. Dick dresses quickly, pulling the sweatshirt hood well over his face and lacing his boots tightly enough to support his ankles. He'd rather have his suit-- even the 'Renegade' suit, at this point -- for roofrunning, but half his plan involves blending into the morning crowd of commuters.

Possibly, Dick should have laced the boots first. He's going over the route in his head when a heavy soft footfall makes him look up. "And where are _you_ off to?" Just as Slade walks right up to him.

Dick looks up, at Slade like a tower of muscle over him, and clamps down right away with a control pattern for his breathing. Slade's thrown on his dark blue robe, left unbelted, and his hair is still in the tufts Dick pulled it into back in bed, and he smirks down at Dick with that terrifying fond edge. Dick forcibly holds himself still, the shudders reverberating inside him, and stands up slowly enough for nonchalance and fast enough that Slade won't keep him on his knees. "I was a little restless." Giving himself a couple points for his steady voice, Dick tilts his head back a little with a smirk of his own.

"Restless, eh?" Slade closes those big hands around Dick's upper arms and lifts him effortlessly. Dick wishes Slade were stupid enough to toss him out the window, and tries not to look like a knickknack being shifted. "Not to flatter myself, kid..." Slade pushes Dick up against the wall. "But I'd've thought you'd be worn out."

Dick _is_ tired, and sore, and every single bite Slade's left on him for the last week is throbbing in time with his bullet scar pressed under Slade's palm and his pounding pulse. He braces the soles of his boots against the wall and tries to look unconcerned. "I just feel like a little fresh air."

"Mmm-hmm." Slade's expression is hard, narrow-eyed and unsmiling, his gaze almost pressure on Dick's skin. This is not good. "And the real reason you're up at dawn like a good little boy?" Dick flashes through potential lies and discards them, too slowly; Slade drops him onto his feet, but shoves his hood back and grabs his hair. Dick has to bite his lip against the reaction he's learned to have to that, and lock his knees against falling to them. "Tell me what you know, Grayson." Slade brushes the knuckles of his other hand across Dick's cheekbone in a slow, menacing caress.

Dick swallows, clutching Slade's wrists ineffectually. The right balance of unfazed and obedient isn't easy to strike. Eyebrows held steady, expression carefully mild, he says, "I know a lot of things." Such as that the Society aims to kill a quarter million people, in his city. "Were you thinking of any in particular?"

Slade's grin blurs as he shakes Dick's head till his scalp burns. "Don't get cute, pretty bird." He slides his thumb over Dick's mouth, slowly enough for Dick to remember sucking it a couple hours ago, down his chin to his pulse. "We don't want to wake up Rose, do we?"

"A young girl needs her rest," Dick agrees, with Slade's hand on his throat, the heel pressed delicately against a particularly sore hickey. He can't think of any bluffs or dodges, anything but the heat of Slade's hands on his skin and in his hair. "So let's be quiet." Which is beyond stupid, beyond irrelevant, when Bludhaven's survival hangs in the balance. "You wanna know what I know?"

"Intimately." Slade strokes Dick's pulse with his thumb, and Dick knows by that broadening smile Slade just felt him shake. .

Dick breathes. "I know the next target's a city." Cool air in his lungs, against the heat in his scalp, on his skin, in his gut. "I know if the attack succeeds, as a Society member you'll be a mass murderer." Slade's jaw sets in a frown. "I know you have a sense of art in your... work." Still, he doesn't yank Dick's hair again, and he listens. "And a sense of reason. There's no art in killing an entire city, nor any reason."

Slade grits his teeth, growling, his grip tightening on Dick's hair till Dick has to rise on the balls of his feet. "You've been snooping around, Grayson." Another shake nearly pulls Dick off his feet, makes him fight for that calm breathing pattern. "I don't think I like that." But then Slade lets go, so abruptly Dick almost staggers. "Still, you've got a point. Go save your city."

Dick moves, turning to the window before he can let himself think, but when he steps up onto the sill Slade stops him. At least he's not looking back. "And fly right back, or you'll never see the next hit coming till the town's in ashes around you."

Dick looks back. Slade folds his arms. "Bludhaven's safe?" Dick asks, and winces a little at his own brainlessness.

"As long as you're with me, kid." Something important melts inside Dick when Slade smiles. "Now go before I change my mind." And something else freezes.

Dick nods, and swallows hard, and dives out the window.


	3. One Year After "To Conciliate A Tiger"

"No," Dick says, somewhere in mid-roll. He catches himself, three fingers, one foot, and instead of standing up flips onto his feet even though he shouldn't. Slade is the last person he should show off in front of.

For several reasons, including the bolo Slade just threw, and the shuriken. Dick ducks, twists, and does a handspring that puts him over the projectiles and in range of a good head-kick. He connects, and Slade grunts, staggering back a step. But he still gets a hand up and around Dick's ankle, and Dick can't flip his way out of that.

Slade falls --- he lets himself fall, into the patch of gravel - dragging Dick down as he goes, pulling him in with big hands climbing his leg. Dick grabs at Slade's mask - handhold, eye gouge, anything - and gets two fistfuls of air as Slade grabs his arm, twisting it back as he rolls Dick beneath his bulk.

Gravel in his hair and Slade on top of him, Dick bucks and punches, but Slade pins him limb by limb; once he's got both of Dick's arms behind his back, weight on Dick's thigh and booted sole poised on Dick's knee, Slade laughs, his breath hot through his mask. "Kid," he drawls. "Come on. I _know_ where she is."

Slade is very large, and heavy, and warm, on top of Dick. "And you know you can't get at her," Dick snaps, twisting his hands in his gloves. If he can unsnap one he might be able to pull free.

"She's my _daughter_." Slade's voice slides down, a low purr. "No matter where you stash her."

"You don't deserve custody." A head-butt is gonna hurt. Not letting himself think about that, Dick goes for it, but Slade rears away, and all Dick does is give himself whiplash.

Slade chuckles and kisses Dick's forehead, through the mask, a light brush of armored cloth over a smirk Dick knows far too intimately. "The only thing standing between me and my daughter is you, Grayson." A twitch of his hips presses Dick down harder, and Dick pays attention to the gravel digging into his back, not the hard heat at his front. "That's not a good place to be." Slade wraps both of Dick's wrists in one hand, reaching up to curve the other lightly around Dick's throat, not pressing at all, yet. "Do you really want to be there?"

Slade's hands are a lot bigger than Dick's, but this hold is still a stretch. Dick breathes against Slade's weight on his chest, Slade's press on his whole body. He'll only get one shot at this. "I definitely don't wanna be here," Dick says, getting ready.

Then he twists everything inward. His knee gets a scrape as Slade tries to stomp it, his hand pops free, the steel collar deflects Slade's grip long enough to shove his head back into gravel and away. An elbow to the gut drives Slade up just long enough and far enough to drag his leg free, and Dick's on his knees, floundering up in the gravel, grabbing a pebble as he goes. Slade still has three fingers around Dick's other wrist, jerking his arm like a leash; Dick turns just enough to smash the pebble onto Slade's index finger, feeling sick as bone gives under his hand. The finger spasms as it breaks and Dick pulls free.

Slade sucks in one breath, and lets it out in an amused sound. Dick keeps going for another couple of feet, till he's back on packed dirt, before he lets himself look. Slade's kneeling in the gravel, pulling his finger straight. "You actually broke it," he says, warmly.

"I'll break more to keep Rose safe from you," Dick threatens, then promptly ruins the effect by coughing.

Slade laughs again, sitting back on his heels, flexing his fist experimentally. The finger's already straight. "How many will be yours?"

He can have the last word. Dick turns again and runs.


	4. Dick's Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during the "Renegade" arc.

"I don't need a present." Dick succeeded in swallowing the "from you." With difficulty.

Slade smirked like he'd heard it anyway, and patted Dick's shoulder hard enough to knock the air out of him. "But I'm giving you one, kid." Dick's reward for not staggering was another bruising pat. "One you'll really appreciate." Slade clamped his hand on Dick's upper arm. "Coming?"

"How could I refuse?" Without losing his arm, anyway. Dick let Slade drag him along to his bedroom, dully rationalizing that it really couldn't be that bad. Probably some new sex toy or other. Dick still had a few performing smiles left.

"You'll love this one, Grayson," Slade murmured in his ear. "Close your eyes." Dick sighed and shut them as Slade pushed open the bedroom door. The scent of burning candles drifted out, and Dick rolled his eyes behind his eyelids; he was about to sigh again when a faint sound made his chest seize. The sound of constrained breathing. _Oh, no._

The door shut and locked behind them very loudly.

"Go ahead and look," Slade said jovially, and Dick could've kicked himself for actually waiting for permission. He did. And gasped.

Tim was tied to the bed, wearing nothing but his mask and a gag. And a single lit candle smack in the middle of his chest, drooling hot wax down its sides.

Slade jerked Dick back from his first lunge forwards. "I know you're eager, but now is _this_ gratitude?" He pinned Dick against the door as easily as if he didn't even feel the kicks. "After all the trouble I went through to find you the perfect present."

"Let him go!" That one made Slade wince. Dick wrenched his arm free by nearly hyperextending his elbow and got in two good punches before Slade recaptured his wrist with a hissed chuckle. "Let. Him. Go. He's just a kid! He's the same age as Rose!"

"And yet he asked to play with you." Slade flattened Dick against the door, in too close for a headbutt. "If I'd known you'd act this way I'd've added giftwrap."

Dick imagined Slade's idea of giftwrap long enough to shudder, then managed to make himself stop. "Robin? Are you OK?" Tim nodded, just a little move of his head, and almost didn't flinch when another fat drop of wax rolled down the candle onto his skin. Almost. "Let him _go_, Slade. He's not part of our deal."

"No, but you're part of his." Slade smiled at Dick, licked his mouth too fast for Dick to bite him, and let go. "Go open your present."

Dick took a deep breath and threw himself at the bed.

The candle had left a hot red ring on Tim's chest, but the damage didn't seem any worse than a sunburn. With his other hand Dick pried the gag out of Tim's mouth as gently as he could. "Robin---"

"Hey," said Tim, perfectly calmly. No, not quite; when Dick flipped his lenses up to check his eyes they were clear and soft. Apologetic. "Hey, Nightwing. I found you."

"You what? You--- you! Oh, _shit_." Shocky-clumsy, Dick fumbled at the rope on Tim's wrist, just long enough for Slade to catch Dick's wrist and yank it away. "Let--"

"Kid." Slade squeezed Dick's wrist sharply, and Dick glanced up in annoyance and got caught in the cold blue gaze. "The ropes stay. Now..." With his other hand, Slade lifted one of the bedside candles; it spilled a stream of wax down over Slade's wrist, and his only reaction was to growl deep in his chest, and grin at Dick. "Now let' relax and enjoy your present."

Choking on the "no" he somehow couldn't say, the lump above his aching heart, Dick looked down at Tim's tiny, brave, knowing smile, and swallowed hard.

 


End file.
